The Hunter and The Girl
by snoodlepoodle
Summary: The hunter is on his own after his group was separated from each other after the attack on the prison. He is blindly walking the Georgia woods and comes across a cottage. He investigates it and gets more than he bargained for. A/U Daryl Dixon, OC May contain smut (probably)
1. Chapter 1

The sound of an arrow whooshing through the air was the only thing that gave the walker any inclination that the hunter was around but by that time the arrow had already made it to it's destination deep inside the monster's head. With swiftness and ease the hunter ran up to the fallen corpse and yanked his arrow out of it's face and then quickly buried it and retracted it out of the temple of another walker that thought he could sneak up on him. Then he reloaded his crossbow with the same arrow, lifted it and pulled the trigger and sent the arrow screaming towards the third and final walker. This one hit it in the middle of it's chest, not killing it but slowing it down. "Dammit." The hunter mumbled as he reached for his hunting knife and casually walked towards the living dead creature and shoved the pointed end of his knife down into the top of the walker's head. It fell to the ground with a loud thump. The hunter glanced around in all directions, checking to see if he had missed any and when he was sure he wasn't he pulled his arrow out of the dead body and loaded it back into his crossbow. Then he took out a red handkerchief and began to clean his blade.

When he felt that his weapon was clean enough he sheathed it and the re-adjusted the crossbow that hung from his back. He reached up and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of one of his dirty, calloused hands. It was exceptionally hot that afternoon and he soon realized he was low on fresh water. He knew he would have to find more soon, or risk dehydration. The hunter had been wandering around the Georgia woods for days. He'd lost count of how many it had been after 10. He knew it had been a lot longer than that since he'd seen his last breathing person.

He wasn't lonely, in fact he preferred to be alone, he had always been that way since he was young. He did miss the last group he was with though. They had been holed up in a prison and it got over-run with walkers. The group split up and he never found anyone else. He assumed everyone he was with was dead. That realization had hurt him because those people were the only ones who didn't treat him like a criminal. He didn't know why, physically he fit the description and he had been very private about his past. No one in the group knew what he had done or was before the turn and no one really tried to force him to disclose that information. All they had to do was ask and he would have told them, they just never did.

Next to losing his older brother, who had practically raised him, losing the people in his last group was one of the hardest pills he's ever had to swallow. Even though he was used to be alone, he had also gotten used to having people to talk to when needed and having people rely on him. He had never seen himself as the hero type, but with his rough exterior and mysterious interior everyone saw him as that. He didn't mind that all either.

The hunter took out his canteen and swallowed what little water he had left. Now he knew he would need more water. The sun was relentlessly beating down on him from above and it seemed to be getting hotter and hotter. His body ached as he started walking again, making sure he didn't make too much noise in the process. "Gotta find water." He thought to himself, "top priority."

An hour or so later thankfully he came across a creek. The water was clear and fast moving, which he was thankful for. He bent down and filled his canteen and started drinking. The cold water was like Heaven on his dry scratchy throat and he had to remind himself that he needed to drink slowly to avoid being sick. When he was done he filled the canteen once more, placed the lid back on and shoved it into his bag.

He contemplated resting a while beside the creek. The dull pain in his back had become more noticeable but he was afraid that if he rested he wouldn't want to get back up. He ultimately decided to just continue walking along the creek bed and would set up camp later in the day. He continued his journey, carefully placing one foot in front of the other and making sure his senses were alert and in tune to his surroundings. If something scurried across the forest floor, the hunter knew it and could identify the creature just from sound alone. He shot and killed a few squirrels which he shoved into his bag for later. It was easy hunting for just himself. He never really ate much and hunting was one of the few things that came naturally to him.

Occasionally his mind would wander, and he would think about the group he had just lost. He wondered if any of them were still alive, and if so would they be looking for him as he was looking for them. He doubted it. He had made sure not to hike too far from the prison on the off-chance that maybe he would run into a fellow survivor. But after days and days of waiting he had reluctantly given up and started heading north. Why north? That direction seemed okay to him. So here he was, blindly wandering north not knowing where he was going or what he would find.

His mind was so full of questions and thoughts that he almost didn't see the little stone cottage tucked behind a grove of trees until it was too late. He paused and stared at it. The stone was gray, with dark green moss covering most of it. The door was wooden and the windows had been boarded shut. There didn't appear to be anything or anyone living in it. "Supplies?" He thought to himself as he took a mental inventory of his own stash. He was low on canned goods and other necessities. "Taking a look wouldn't hurt," he thought, "could probably crash there tonight as well." He took a tight grip on his cross bow and headed for the front door.

He placed his hand on the door and knocked loudly and stood back. If there was anything alive or dead they would let themselves be known. The hunter made sure to keep his breathing very still so he could hear anything that needed to be heard. All he heard were the sounds of birds chirping and the faint sound of water running from the creek. Taking a deep breath he pushed on the front door.

Surprisingly the door opened with ease. Pushing it open further he peered inside the small cottage into what appeared to be a living room. With his cross bow aimed and readied he cautiously took a step inside. The room was musty, like it had been shut up for a while. Dust covered everything he could see. The wood floor, which was bare, creaked quietly under his feet. The room wasn't much to look at. A couch, an arm chair and an old t.v. were the main inhabitants. Just off from the living room was the kitchen, the cabinets open and practically bare themselves. There was no power, obviously, and he doubted there would be running water.

Off to the left of the living room was the bathroom. The door stood wide open and the room was empty. He decided he would raid the medicine cabinet after making sure the small cottage was completely inhabited. To the right was a closed door, in which he assumed was the one and only bedroom. The hunter carefully placed a hand on the door knob and turned it slowly freeing the latch. The door swung open easily and revealed itself to be empty as well. Only a bed stood in the middle of the small room. "Guess nobody's home." He thought to himself as he lowered his weapon and swung it back over his shoulder.

Feeling a bit more relaxed under the assumption that he was alone he turned to walk to the kitchen, but as he did so he was immediately struck on the head by something hard and large. The hunter started seeing spots in front of his eyes and lost his balance, falling hard on the wooden floor. Before losing consciousness he caught glimpse of a woman who seemed to have come out of nowhere. She was small in stature and had long brown hair. In her hand was a cast iron skillet. "What the f-?!" was all he could get out before a swift kick to the head caused his whole world to turn black.


	2. Chapter 2

A few hours later the hunter came to with an excruciating pain resonating in his head. He tried to bring his hands to his head but couldn't and realized that his hands were tied behind his back as were his feet were tied together. "What the hell?" The hunter thought. Glancing around he realized he was still in the cabin in the exact place he had fallen after being attacked. The last thing he remembered was seeing a girl. He had been disarmed while he took his involuntary nap and he didn't much like the thought of not knowing where his weapons were.

The hunter did the only thing he thought he could do and yelled out, "HEY!" His voice was hoarse and ragged and it scratched his throat when he spoke. He didn't care, he wanted answers and he wanted to be gone. "Hey!" He shouted again. "Shh," A short, brown haired girl said as she entered from the outside. "I just killed four walkers since you've been here, I don't want to attract anymore." She slung the crossbow down on the dusty couch and crossed her arms. "Good morning."

"What the fuck is this all about?" The hunter demanded. "Did you do this to me?"

"See anyone else around here? Anyone else capable of taking down an intruder with just a cast iron skillet?" The mystery girl cocked her head to the side and placed a hand on her hip."

"You cheated," The hunter said as he put himself into a sitting position. "Can't hit a man when his back is turned. Face to face woulda been a fair fight." His face twisted in pain as he tried to find a comfortable position on the floor.

"You came in here, weapons drawn, uninvited. At least you had the decency to knock before you trespassed on this property."

"Looking at the place you can't blame someone for assuming it was abandoned."

The girl chuckled and bit her lower lip. The hunter noticed how her eyes sparkled as she let out an airy laugh. The girl was pretty, but there wasn't enough pretty in this world that would make him trust someone who attacked him with his back turned.

"Do I get an explanation? An apology? Can I be untied and have my weapons returned? Sent on my way?"

"One thing at a time, not like either of us are pressed for time." The girl grabbed the hunter's knife and walked towards him. With a blank expression she asked, "Are you trying to kill me?"

"I wasn't, but I kinda want to now."

"What do you want?"

"I came in here looking for supplies. Like I told you, I thought the place was abandoned. I was gonna pick through what I could if I could. I knocked, no one answered so I guessed the place was abandoned."

"What are you? Why are you alone?"

The hunter then proceeded to tell his story, the one about the prison and how he lost his last group and how he ended up being alone. He told the girl that he was a hunter, a hunter of animals and the un-dead and he assured her that he wouldn't kill the living unless his life depended on it. The whole time he spoke the girl watched him. She hung onto every word coming out of his mouth. Since the turn she had been very wary of who she trusted, but there was something about this hunter that relaxed her. The sound of his voice, the way his mouth moved as he formed his words, it was all so intriguing to her. Without letting him finish his story she walked over with the knife and cut the ropes that tied his hands and feet.

The hunter stopped mid-sentence as the girl stooped down beside him to cut the rope. Her complexion was fair, and her hair was a darker brown than he originally thought. He felt her hand graze his arm as she moved from his hands to his feet. "Thank you." His whisper was barely audible, but loud enough for her to hear and acknowledge his thanks with a nod of her head. For a brief second they made eye contact and the hunter noticed that her eyes were the greenest green he had ever seen. Feeling embarrassed the girl started working quicker to cut the ropes off his legs, like she wanted to get away as fast as possible. The hunter never moved and never made a sound after that. He just watched as she cut the rope and then finally gathered the rope pieces and threw them in a pile on the floor in a corner.

"My weapons?" The hunter asked.

"I said one thing at a time." The girl replied, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. "I don't know you, therefore I don't trust you. You gotta earn that trust if we're gonna be together for a while."

"Who said anything about me and you sticking together?"

The girl's eyes flicked from his down to below his belt where he was sporting an erection of reasonable size. "No one had to say a word." Of course the hunter had no idea, he was too immersed in this mystery girl's eyes to realize that he was massively turned on. The hunter tried to re-position himself to hide it but the damage was already done. The girl giggled at the sight of the embarrassed hunter.

"Can I at least have your name?" The hunter asked.

"Ana."

"Ana, I'm Daryl and I'm a firm believe of always finishing what you start." He gestured towards his penis, still standing at full attention and then locked eyes with Ana, a slight smile curled up at the corners of his mouth.

This made Ana laugh loudly and she reached out and picked up Daryl's crossbow. She crossed the room to him and gently placed it on the floor next to him. Cupping his face in her hand she stared deep into his blue eyes. "I said, 'one thing at a time'." She spoke slowly and made sure to enunciate every syllable that came across her lips. Then without prevocation she slapped Daryl hard across the cheek, stood up and quickly left him sore and confused.


	3. Chapter 3

Daryl sat there for several minutes before remembering his legs and feet were no longer bound together. His face hurt, but he didn't think anything hurt more than his pride. But even with a bruised ego, Daryl still wanted the girl. He stood up and stretched. His body ached, as well as his head, from the days and days of walking and malnutrition. Slinging the crossbow over his back he went looking for his hunting knife.

It wasn't in any of his pockets. He found his bag and ruffled through its contents. Everything was there, with the exception of the squirrels he had killed along his way, but no knife. Irritated, he tossed the bag onto the old dusty couch and sauntered off to look for Ana.

He found her, sitting outside by the creekbed, her bottom on the grass and her feet in the water, wearing nothing but her bra and panties. Her body gleamed with sweat in the sunlight as she tirelessly scrubbed some clothes clean against a rock. Daryl heard her muttering to herself, cursing about blood stains and how she would give anything for a bottle of bleach. Daryl started to make his presence known, but realized she was unaware of him standing a few yards behind her and decided to just stay back and observe her for a few.

It had been so long since he had seen a woman, well, it had been a while since he had seen a live one. He marveled at how dark her skin was and how her long brown hair flowed over her back like a waterfall. The sight of her started making him hard again as she paused to pull her hair back in a ponytail, exposing the back of her neck and the top half of her back. She had a tattoo on her left shoulder blade, the name "Donovan". Probably an old lover, Daryl thought to himself. He followed a bead of sweat as it traveled down her back and disappeared behind the back of her panties. The tightness in his pants was becoming increasingly uncomfortable for him so reluctantly he tore his eyes away from her and cleared his throat to make his presence known.

Ana turned quickly towards the sound and saw Daryl standing there, awkwardly, his face was blood red and was staring down at the ground. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, why are all men such horn balls? She thought. "What?" She asked impatiently.

Daryl mumbled something in response but never looked back up from his feet.

"Dude, I can't hear you." Ana said, her impatience growing bigger and bigger.

"Where's my knife?"

"Oh." She stood up and started searching the pockets of her pants which were lying on the ground, giving Daryl a perfect view of her backside. Finally she stood up with the knife in her hands and tossed it to him. It stuck into the ground at his feet. Daryl bent down to retrieve it from the ground and by the time he stood back up, Ana was already sitting back down, washing her shirt in the creek. "Thank you." He said quietly, stuffing the knife back into his pocket.

"Take off your clothes." Ana demanded, not looking away from her own washing.

"Excuse me?" Daryl stared in bewilderment at the persistence of this girl.

"You're filthy. You could use a washing. Take off your clothes, sit with me and wash them."

Daryl thought for a moment and realized that a washing would be nice. He walked over to Ana, slipped his shoes off and tossed them to the side. He then slipped the crossbow off his back and gently sat it on the ground and began to take his shirt off. He sat down with his feet in the water next to her and started dipping his shirt in and out of the creek.

"What about your pants?"

"Going commando." Daryl replied, a bit embarrassed.

Ana didn't respond, instead she wrung her shirt out as best as she could and layed it out on a rock to let it dry in the sun. She started in on her pants then, remaining silent.

"So, what's your story?" Daryl asked as he couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"I was alive when the world went to shit and I'm alive after. What else do you need to know?" She paused long enough to look up at him. She caught a slight glimpse of Daryl's scars on his back. He quickly readjusted himself so she couldn't see anymore. "It's okay." Ana began, "we all have scars." She reached out her hand to show a large scar right above her left wrist. Daryl stared at it for a moment and mumbled, "Sorry."

"Don't be, I did it to myself. If I had known this would have been what my life would have turned out as, I would have made sure I did it the right way." She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and continued to beat her clothes against a rock. Daryl wrung out his own shirt and placed it on the rock next to her's to dry.

"You hungry?" Ana asked him.

"I could eat. Had a few squirrels in my bag when I showed up, they're gone now though."

"I skinned and cleaned them. Only thing to do now is cook 'em." Ana said, proudly. Ana stood up and threw her wet pants onto another rock to dry. Daryl watched as she sauntered past him. She stopped a few yards away and started arranging twigs and dried grass for a small camp fire. It took everything he had in him not jump up and run after her, take her in his arms from behind and do every ungodly thing imaginable to her. He switched his attention back to his laundry and did his best to think of anything else.


End file.
